


Greased Lightning

by oceansinmychest



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Light-Hearted, One Shot, Slight Domesticity, filled request, light teasing, vera's quite the grease monkey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 14:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11807694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceansinmychest/pseuds/oceansinmychest
Summary: Oil streaks her cheek. It's a sacrificial anointment.





	Greased Lightning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheSaxyOne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSaxyOne/gifts).



> So, Saxy had the following request: One of our ladies is quite the grease monkey and the other finds it pretty irresistible. Disclaimer: I'm not a car girl so this is pretty tame. Sorry about that!

The daylight threatens to break. A woman rests her back on a mechanic's creeper. Wheels grind against the asphalt. Her legs peek out from underneath the massive frame that hides a good portion of her body. Miss Bennett scrutinizes the suspension. Fingers coast along the frigid metal; she's well acquainted with the purring of her car, but something's out of tune. She's determined to find the source.

A little, purple toolbox sits near the rear tire. The brakes seem to be in working order.

Life's semi-permanence flares up again. Should the jump fail to work, the car could come crashing down at any moment. The ideation causes her heart to hammer within her chest. However, the root of the problem has nothing to do with her tinkering around under the vehicle.

Relenting, Vera slides out. The heel of her sneaker prevents her from rolling away too fast, too soon. She stands. Straightens herself out. With her hair pulled into a bouncy ponytail and the sleeves of her white t-shirt rolled up, she embodies the portrait of a working class woman.

Pivoting on heel, she comes to the front and lingers before the headlights. Musculature's defined in the way she moves. She bends over, fiddling underneath the hood, and offering an enticing view of her behind. Denim blue jeans hug her slight curves in all the right ways.

Dressed in her uniform, the Governor parks her car. Joan exits her vehicle after a particularly arduous shift. The door quietly shuts behind her. A brow's arched as she takes in the scene that enfolds before her. Her clear handbag nestles under the crook of her arm where her personal items remain in plain sight yet hidden.

She moves in a predatory way to avoid producing any sound. The hunter draws closer, closer still. Silently, Joan observes. She doesn't give away her presence though it can be felt in the air: undeniably electric. In her own way, she admires a working woman. There's a hint of a smile, barely visible.

"My, my, Vera. You're full of surprises."

Joan announces herself in a nonchalant way.

With a startled gasp, Vera slams the hood shut in order to wipe her grease covered hands on a neighboring cloth. Her biceps flex. She turns around. Leans against the front of the tiny, little shoebox that's her beloved possession.

"Mum told me it was unladylike and improper, but I figured I needed to learn; I never wanted to be stranded on the side of the road."

A cheeky grin.

Oil streaks her cheek. It's a sacrificial anointment.

At the confession, Joan arches a brow.

“Mm. I beg to differ. It's a useful knowledge to possess, my dear Vera.”

A saunter accompanies the tantalizing sway of her hips. The Governor draws ever closer, resting her handbag on the top of the car. Her arms, muscular underneath the confines of her blazer, restrain Vera. Keep her pinned in place. A knee parts her legs. At the intimidation tactic, Vera laughs. It's a game to her. To them.

"Come along, Vera. Allow me to draw you a bath. My treat," she insists.

Clad in black leather gloves designated for riding purposes, she enjoys night drives that are dedicated to careful introspection. A gloved thumb swipes over her cheek. Rubs the oil away. Tar black clings to creased leather.

"I don't think I'm _that_ dirty," Vera protests.

The younger woman's still grinning despite how warm she feels with a flush to her ears.

"Then, let me to prepare you dinner."

_I might have to make you my main course._

"Is it already made?" Expression wry, Vera presents a challenge. She looks up at the woman who holds her hostage without any fear in her heart.

Joan, on the other hand, looks none too amused.

"Ha."

She purses her thin lips, dark eyes focused upon the squirming brunette. The fight's endearing, the mouse embodying a thorn in the great lioness' paws. This time, Aesop's fable has a happier end.

“Go inside, Vera. You wouldn't want me to ask again.”

Hot breath tickles the smooth expanse of her neck. She's inches away from a kiss. Instead, the slope of her nose touches the skin. Vera laughs and it's sunshine incarnate. Albeit reluctantly, she breaks free. Has a running start to Joan's flat.

Joan takes her time, lingering behind, and enjoying the view.

Savoring how it should be.

 


End file.
